Miss Grimshaw got on the side of the car opposite to the bailiff, Moriarty seized the reins, the gossoon sprang away, and the mare rose on end.
"Fresh?" said the man in the tall hat.
"Faith, she'll be stale enough when I've finished with her," said Moriarty. "Now then, now then, what are yiz afther? Did you never see a barra of luggage before? Is it a mothor-car you're takin' yourself to be, or what ails you, at all, at all? Jay up, y' divil!"
The Dancing Mistress—such was her ominous name—having performed the cake walk to her own satisfaction, turned her attention to a mixture of the "Washington Post" and the two-step.
"Hit her with the whip," said Miss Grimshaw.
"Hit her with the whip!" replied Moriarty. "Sure, it's kicked to matches we'd be if she heard me draa it from the socket. Now then, now then, now then!"
"That's better," said Miss Grimshaw.
"Yes, miss," replied Moriarty. "Once she's started nothin' will stay her, but it's the startin' is the divil."
It was getting towards sunset now, and in the east the ghost of a great moon was rising pale as a cloud in the amethyst sky.
The moors swept away for ever on either side of the road, moor and black bog desolate and silent but for the wind and the cry of the plover. Vast mountains and kingly crags thronged the east, purple in the level light of evening and peaceful with the peace of a million years; away to the west, beyond the smoke wreaths from the chimneys of Cloyne, the invisible sea was thundering against rock and cliff, and the gulls and terns, the guillemots and cormorants, were wheeling and crying, answering with their voices the deep boom of the sea caves.